With Our Shields or On Them
by JHodge
Summary: Military epic following the life and operations of a Marine SpecialMission Unit. Expect more as I update. Please read and review!
1. Mission: BlackLight

**... With Our Shields or On Them**

**_Mission: Black Light_**

By: JHodge

**Undisclosed Airstrip**

**South-West Azerbaijan**

**0037hrs Local**

**Present Day 2009 **

**(Mission: Black Light + 0 days)**

It took all but 30 minutes to reassemble and prep the three MH-6 'Little Bird' helicopters and within 4 minutes they were airborne for their target in eastern Armenia. The three helos were flying blacked out except for the green tritium laced instrument panel, glowed with the aid of night vision goggles. Chief Warrant Officer Bristole piloted the lead helicopter Rook 3-7, followed by Rooks 3-5 and 3-6 carrying the brunt of the assault force, Knight -3 and 4 on their external benches. Gunnery Sergeant Tomas Alvarez- the team leader of Knight 3 and mission commander, fidgeted with his assault vest in an ill-fated attempt to ease the pain of the pinched flesh caught between its straps. Seated on the forward outboard spot on Rook 3-5 he mentally rehearsed the mission ahead of him, contemplated contingencies as well as the planned escape and evasion options hatched by his company's planning and operation staff (S-3).

From this position he was exposed to the elements and could feel the cold air scrape across the uncovered portions of his face and creep through the neck line of his modified olive-drab coveralls, similar to the ones used by pilots, and cool the heat accumulating from underneath all of his gear. Looking to the south he could see the distant fiery-orange haze caused by a series of coordinated artillery and missile strikes against Armenian targets; military and/or civilian the Azeris could care less. The primary cause for the conflict within the former Russian Caucasus states began in 1988 between Armenia and Azerbaijan over the Nagorno-Karabakh region between the two countries and with it currently under Armenian occupation, it continues to be a problem for Azerbaijan and has slowly begun to unravel into a large-scale conflict. Within this realm of chaos stands the Autonomous Republic of Ajara, a former territory of the Republic of Georgia located on the Black Sea coast bordering Turkey to the south; with its rampant corruption and criminality it has become one of the prime import/export hubs for the international _black market_. According to Azeri intelligence findings, Ajara has been funneling arms and supplies to the Armenian forces on behalf of the Russian government (who continue to chastise Azerbaijan for their independence from Moscow), in addition to harboring smugglers, drug dealers, and terrorist groups.

After committing itself to Operation Eager Justice: aimed at countering a leftist military coup in Ecuador in late 2005, the continued struggles in Iraq, the inexhaustible _War on Terrorism_, to include operations throughout the Horn of Africa and other soon to boil-over conflicts; the United States was not eager to jump into another large scale operation. But a series of events would change _the_ administrations' perception. It all began when three Marine Corps officers where kidnapped while deployed to ROTA Naval Station in Spain during the fall of 2006 and more than a year later nothing has been heard from them but those responsible were said to have been Basque terrorists with Eastern European funding. The second incident involved an American mine hunting ship (operating under a United Nations controlled deployment off the coast of Romania) that was nearly scuttled when a small merchant ship feigned distress and then exploded when the Navy vessel was within 300 meters of it, killing 7 Americans. This suicide bombing had been traced to an Islamic terrorist cell seeking refuge in Ajara. The third incident against American interest involved the hijacking of a small luxury cruiser (40 passengers) traveling throughout the Greek Isles; unfortunately faulty wiring caused the improvised explosive to detonate prematurely taking the lives of 17 Americans and 5 of the 7 terrorists. Those responsible for the luxury cruiser incident were identified as former members of a Serbian para-military group that had taken part in the atrocities committed in Kosovo; the money and materials were traced back to Ajara. Incidentally, non of these incidents were seen as a single act of terrorism by one group (at least to the untrained eye) or entity and were dismissed as just random attacks against American interests, and as such, conventional methods of dealing with those responsible would not be as effective as unconventional means.

The artillery bombardment witnessed by Gunnery Sergeant Alvarez was just one of those methods, which happened to be under the supervision of a detachment from the 10th Special Forces Group (Abn). The cooperation with Azerbaijan, a predominantly Muslim country, was a great step in both Americas foreign and military policy in the fight against terrorism. The union gave America two major airbases in Azerbaijan which softened the loss of airbases in both Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan. The government of Azerbaijan also welcomed this joint venture to most importantly become a member of NATO, as its neighbor Georgia did in 2005, but to also receive the assistance needed to drive the Armenian occupants out of the disputed Nagorno-Karabakh region which is rightfully part of the Azeri national boundary.

For the duration of the trip Alvarez had tuned the world out of his head; drifting off into that zone of semi-consciousness controlled by instinct and intuition. Lost in his surroundings, a burst of static followed by the flight leaders voice rushed through the FM frequency and into the left padded ear-cup of Alvarez's headset, "Gunny be advised, were 11 minutes from the target and the objective is still well illuminated if, we push on we'll be compromised," informed the flight leader- Chief Bristole. Alvarez methodically replied, "Roger that Chief, have some faith. Press on."

And with no notice or clamor the ground ahead of them went black, as though consumed by a massive black hole. "Oh shit, I think somebody kind'a fucked up down there," yapped Sergeant Peters over the team's communication network- TeamNet. Instead of the preplanned nine blacked out city blocks, covert assets managed to disable the entire town's electrical grid. The incident was so unexpected that it dissolved most of the pre-mission anxiety, "You know I'm gonna wanna hear that story when we get back," replied Alvarez over team-net. "No kidding," mocked Peters over his microphone's boom.

The flight to their target had been gauged at 40 minutes and the aerial convoy had been flying for 36 of them. After receiving the 2-minute warning from the lead pilot and confirming with his own GPS unit, Alvarez adjusted his MICH helmet- tactical replacement to the bulkier combat helmet, flipped down and engaged his night vision monocle as the rest of the assault force made last minute equipment checks. Chief Bristole, carrying a sniper/observer, broke away from the formation and slipped into an over-watch position which circled the target building as Rooks 3-5 and 3-6 continued the one-minute flight to the target building's roof. Gunny Alvarez checked the FM frequency his MBITR was set to and applied pressure to his radios press-to-talk button, "Knight-3-Lead to all Knight elements, stand-by for insertion," he ordered over the FM frequency.

The sleek and agile MH-6 decelerated and hovered at 2 feet over the target building's roof for a few seconds, giving the operators of Knight-3 enough time to unhook their safety-lines and slip off of the helicopters benches. Alvarez's team fanned out taking up security on the rooftop's four corners as Rook 3-6 came in fast, flared and deposited Knight-4 who then proceeded to the roof's access door. Chief Bristole then transmitted a brief message back to the team's mobile tactical operations center located at the Azeri airstrip, "Rook-Lead to Queen-6, Guard Dog. I say again Guard Dog," confirming the successful deployment of the assault force.

Knight-4's team leader quietly articulated through the TeamNet, "In position, demo up." Upon hearing this, Knight 3 collapsed its perimeter from the four corners and moved towards the access door behind Knight-4, Sergeant Peters from team-3 prepared a full-frame breaching charge- three shaped C4 charges were placed vertically to destroy the door hinges while a fourth was placed to cover the locking mechanism. While Sergeant Peters placed the demolitions, Corporal Smith- Knight-3's communication specialist, removed the two-foot long satellite antennae from its black carry-bag and unfurled its brackets back. Smith placed the antennae on top of the access door and pointed it in the appropriate azimuth of the nearest orbiting satellite constellation. He would then trail a fiber optic cable behind the assault force and connect it into a wireless signal repeater which would be received by the multi-band satellite radio he carried.

The bare MH-6's from the 160th SOAR(A) took up a flight plan that would circle them around the target at a distance of 5 minutes. The Knight elements stacked up in anticipation of a dynamic entry; Knight-4 was located to the right of the door while Knight-3 was on its left side. The demolitions sergeant was positioned at the head of his team and would use a lightweight battering ram to push back the metal door after the explosive charge went off on the order to _breach_, so that Knight-4 could smoothly lead them through the door and down the flight of stairs to their objective.

_"Knight-3-Lead to all Knight elements, I have control- stand by," commanded Alvarez as hegripped the electrical firing devicelinked to the breaching charges. "Five…Four…Three…Two…Breach…Go! Go! Go!"_

On the _Go_ command Sergeant Peters stepped forward and swung the ram forward with all of his strength to push the disabled door out of the way. Staff Sergeant Amos _Kooch_ Kochavi and his assault team, Knight-4, led the offensive into the building and first through the door was Sergeant McCormick who immediately came into contact with two bewildered guards who still had their hands protecting their bloodied ears. The engagement was brief as McCormick dispatched the first guard with two 5.56mm rounds to the chest and as the second guard turned to run, McCormick's third round entered under the guard's armpit and exited through his abdomen, he quickly crumpled to the ground. The four-story stonemason house had _once upon a time_ been a local administrative building for the Armenian government, but now it housed political prisoners, prisoners of conflict, and the countrymen of other nations that could be used for future financial support. It was the latter, their own countrymen that the Marines were risking their lives for; three kidnapped Marine officers who had been missing since 2006. Now intelligence assets indicated that they were being held on the third floor of this dilapidated building normally guarded by a local constabulary force, however, due to the presence of high-risk captives, the structures security had been augmented with a small force of Armenian paramilitaries.

Team 4's first shooting pair, Kochavi and McCormick, split off on the 4th floor and entered and secured the minute office space as the second pair- Sergeants Aston and Eagan, moved down to the second floor thus isolating the primary assault team, Knight-3, who was responsible for conducting the snatch on the third floor. The guards were taking by surprise by the foreign intruders as they tried to make sense of the commotion on the roof, unfortunately for them by the time they realized what was going on-180seconds past, Knight-3 began their assault of the target floor.

With security established, Knight-3 restacked by the door of entry. Because there was no time to setup a breaching charge, Peters would use the battering ram to bust through the simple locking mechanism the door used. To the right of the door Gunnery Sergeant Alvarez was in the number one spot followed by his commo specialist Corporal Smith and HM1 Sommers, with Sergeant Peters positioned on the opposite side of the door. Alvarez, in a crouch, tried the door to see if it was unlocked; as he slowly turned the knob his breathing and his entire world transitioned into slow motion as he tried the door. Immediately, everything rushed back to normal as the knob wouldn't complete the rotation; Alvarez looked up to Peters and shook his head to communicate that it was indeed locked. The Gunny then reached into a pouch on his vest and removed two flash/bang distraction grenades, tucking one into a gap in his chest harness and holding the other in his right hand. With his left hand he extended his five fingers, so that the rest of the team could see as he counted down. 5…4…3…2… and on the 1 command, Sergeant Peters swung the battering ram at full force against the wooden door and landed the head of the ram square on the lock, purging it from its location and swaying the battered door inwards.

As the door swung open, Zack Peters rotated back to his starting position before the paramilitaries began firing wildly at and through the door frame. Alvarez pulled the safety pins from the two flash/bangs, while keeping the spoons tightly in place, and waited for the defenders to change their magazines before tossing the devices. Once the first AK-47 magazine was heard clanking on the ground, Alvarez tossed his two distraction grenades followed by one from Peters. The highly trained operators waited for the detonations from the distraction devices before entering and as if on cue three consecutive bangs went off and the team flowed into the long rectangular room -filled with a smoky haze- in their well rehearsed room-entry maneuver.

Alvarez was the first through the door and moved to the left side of the room immediately running through his mental checklist for the rules of engagement; have gun- kill, reach for gun- kill, act suspiciously stupid- kill, a simple yet effective set of ROE's. The first two rounds from his M4 struck center-mass on a guard who had just cocked his rifle and was bringing it to bear on the operator. Peters was the second to enter and crossed to the right of the room and released a burst against a target at the far end of room striking his upper body. In a matter of seconds the two Marines had already dominated the room as the younger and not so experienced Corporal Smith entered the room. The young Marine moved in to the left side towards Alvarez and while on the move slewed the AN/PEQ-2 infrared laser, attached to the top of his M-4, against a head rising from behind a desk and when he spotted the rifle barrel protruding from behind the desk he instinctively squeezed-off three rounds, catching the Armenian paramilitary in the upper throat and collar bone. Doc Sommers was the fourth operator to enter the room and declared "Rear and primary entry clear." The three other operators moved slowly forward and when satisfied that all of the bad guys had been neutralized called out "Left clear," informed Alvarez, followed by "Right clear," from Peters and "Center clear," by Smith. The brief firefight had barely touched a minute by the time it was all over. Each man cracked and then shook to life several bright white chem-lites to provide better lighting so that they could give their AN/PVS-14 night-vision monocles and eyes a break.

The mission commander (Alvarez) chirped into his radios' boom, "This is Knight-3, floor secured. Knight-4 gimme a sitrep," requesting the two shooting pairs to report their current situation. Knight-4's team leader was the first to respond with his situation report, "This is 4-Lead, my location is secure, encountered light contact on my level, but something's not feeling right," followed by Staff Sergeant Aston, team 4's assisting team leader (ATL) down on the second floor, "4-2 here, my location is secure, I think they've figured out what's going on and might attempt to counter-attack but I think we're cool for now." Satisfied with the team's status he ended the transmission, "Roger that, hold status Knight-4." While the Gunnery Sergeant assumed his command responsibilities, the other members of Knight-3 assumed their own mission responsibilities; Sergeant Peters and Doc Sommers ensured that the dead were not faking their deaths by checking their pulse's and then collected any weapons they possessed and dumped them at the other side of the room. Corporal Smith roughly scuffled through any paper work he encountered looking for any viable intelligence as he was the Company's primary Russian linguist. However his slightly erratic behavior caught the senior Marines' eye prompting him to approach the 24 year-old communication specialist, "You okay kid," asked Alvarez placing his right hand on the younger Marines' shoulder. "Locked and cocked Gunny," he responded shrugging off the instant flashback of his first face to face kill. The team leader nodded understanding the new members' plight, and then squeezed and shook Smith's shoulder, "We'll deal with it later. Get you game face on, we're still in the shit," Alvarez firmly assured.

"Gunny we got a situation over here!" Without hesitation Alvarez turned 90 degrees to face one of his operators crouched over a dirty motionless body. He took a knee by the operator and quietly questioned him, "So what Doc, is this one of our boys?" "Yea" reported the glum operator as he compared a picture against the victim's face. "Captain Frank Olsen, 0206. Looks like they beat the shit out of him, just massive cranial damage, see the swelling here and along the crown. Then bang - bang," the medically trained operator said as he emulated a weapon pointed at the victim's chest, "short burst to the chest, he was practically brain dead by then." The corpsman looked over to Alvarez who appeared to have already figured it out as well and confirmed the Gunnery Sergeants thoughts, " 'Fraid we just missed them Tomas." Distraught, Alvarez nodded in acknowledgement, "Alright Sommers pack him up," he said and making sure that his microphone's boom was in the right position, he squeezed the PTT located on his vest and requested Kochavi's presence.

Petty Officer First Class Sommers, the company's senior enlisted medic or _Corpsman_, motioned Smith over. "Sup Doc," asked the tall and wiry Marine standing over the naval medic. "We lost one of the Captains, grab the sked from my pack," he said pointing to the rolled up plastic that was attached to the side of his medic-pack. The sked was a lightweight stretcher made of a durable plastic material which could be rolled-up and stretched out to 72 inches. Doc Sommers rolled the dead Marine face up onto the plastic litter and secured him in place with the tie-down straps which came with the stretcher. As he finalized this morbid task, a voice crowed from one of the corrupt-smelling holding-cells.

In his best broken English the prisoner revealed further insight into the incident, "They were taking them-moving to a new location, but there was a struggle, a f-fight, and they overpowered several guards but, but I know where the two are now, where they take them." Infuriated by the lapse in responsibility by one his team members, the Gunny approached the locked cell not amused by what he was hearing, "Peter's didn't you search this area?" "Who are you," interrogated the Gunnery Sergeant "Shenya, _Rav-Samal_ Shenya Harel," answered the captive indicating he was the equivalent of a US Navy's Petty Officer Second Class. "An Israeli," asked the surprised Marine. "Yes, _Shayetet 13_, I've been imprisoned for a little over a year now."

The Gunnery Sergeant stared at the Israeli for what seemed to be an eternity, taking mental notes of his filthy ragged appearance; long disastrous hair, grimy dirt covered black and blued skin, rag-tag torn clothing and horrid oral hygiene. He wondered if this man was a decoy, providing disinformation on behalf of his captors or if he truly was who he said he was. He knew S'13 and several other IDF special mission units very well, as MARSOC and the Israeli Defense Force enjoyed a healthy friendship. Besides, if he were a fraud nobody would miss him. The mission leader turned to two of his team members, "Prep his ass for exfil, now," urged Alvarez as he locked gaze with Peters.

"Wow- hey now Gunny, I didn't sign up for this shit," rasped Sergeant Peters in a hushed tone as he wrapped several layers of detonation cord around the cell's metal lock, "Move away from the door" he ordered to the prisoner while he popped the 30-second burning fuse. With a bang and a small cloud of smoke the cell door creaked opened, followed by Peters' voice, "Ok, keep facing the wall with your hands on your head I want you to slowly back up to me." Peters was positioned behind their new prisoner while Corporal Smith kept his weapon trained on the prisoner while perpendicular with Peters, "Now stop and lay down with your hands stretched out." Peters then slung his weapon across his back and kneeled down next to the Israeli and began to search him for weapons, "He moves you'd better double-tap his dome," he remarked to Smith but before the Corporal could respond, gunfire resonated from the 2nd floor.

"It's getting pretty hot down here 3-Lead," announced Staff Sergeant Aston over the TeamNet from his position on the second floor. "Roger that. We're nearly done, just keep it cool. If you need another body let me know," replied Alvarez. Staff Sergeant Kochavi then joined Alvarez on the third floor, "What's up pawdna?" In silence he pointed to the dead Marine in response, "Yea, he's ready to go upstairs, Kooch." Nodding in acknowledgment he glimpsed over to the new souvenir, "Who the fuck is that?" "Apparently he's _Rav-Samal_ Harel, one of your frog buddies from '_S'13_'." "Well we shall see," answered Kochavi. The leader of team-3 turned to Smith and Peters and frustratingly looked at his timepiece; they were three minutes behind schedule "What the fuck is taking so long?" "Nada, he's ready to go, flex-cuffed and blindfolded like you like 'em Gunny," witted Peters.

"Ok smartass, move him up to the 4th floor get Doc and Kooch to help carry the stretcher up one time. Smith give Rook the go ahead." Smith unhooked the handset from his vest, checked the VHF frequency located on the remote display hooked to his left shoulder strap and applied pressure to the handset's press to talk button with his thumb, "Rook elements, extract is a go, I repeat green light for extract, over," after receiving confirmation Smith outstretched a thumbs up to his team leader and replaced the handset.

Through the black-starlit morning Sergeant McCormick kept watch with his night vision monocle from the roof's access door just as Doc Sommers crept up behind him and in a hushed tone asked him, "All clear Mac?" "Good to go." "Alright, the birds inbound and package secured," to which he responded with a nod. Alvarez joined Peters, Kochavi, the prisoner, and the dead officer at the bottom of the stairwell which led to the roof and spoke over the TeamNet, "4-2, pull back to the fourth floor extract is on" ordered Alvarez through the TeamNet. Several seconds' later and with no notice two loud concussions reverberated up through the stairwell, catching some of the operators off guard. "4-2, Status," barked Alvarez. "Cool it 3-Lead, we just bought us some time and distance," replied Aston referring to the two fragmentation grenades he had detonated. "Right, let's get a perimeter up on the LZ guys," continued the mission leader to the men in the stairwell.

McCormick and Sommers, positioned within the doorframe of the roof access door looked at each and in an instant put one of their fists in front of the other and played a quick game of _Rock, Paper, Scissors_ to decide who would leave the safety of the doorframe first. Unfortunately, McCormick's _rock_ beat the corpsman's _scissors_ to which the looser shot his head back in disbelief but accepted by knocking helmets with the victor then executed a quick gear check before stepping out into the cool early morning. Doc Sommers gripped his M4, wedged it firmly between his shoulders and got low into a crouch and scurried off to the only form of protection the open roof provided them; a seven foot long and 4 four foot high unfinished concrete addition. Sergeant McCormick remained vigilant as he swept his ACOG equipped M-4 from left to right against a rooftop nearly 300 meters from their location. Once in position, Sommers signaled back with two flashes from his red lens flashlight to McCormick who then relayed it to the others in the stair well. Knight 4's team leader was the next to crouch-run over to the wall while McCormick continued to provide cover.

From the bottom of the stairwell Alvarez reached back and unhooked the handset from his communications specialists' vest just as Staff Sergeant Aston and Sergeant Eagan reached the fourth floor, "Knight3-Lead to Rook3-Lead, what's your ETA, over?" "Rook-Element is 3 mikes out, over." "Copy that Rook3. Peters switch me over to Juliet's frequency." The 24 year old complied, flipping open a touch pad attached to the communicator's left shoulder strap and punched in the new frequency for the satellite radio and said, "you're good to go." "Knight 3-Actual to Juliet 030, over." "Go ahead 3-Actual." "Package in play 4 minutes, come back, over." "Juliet 030 confirms package in play 4 mikes." Alvarez passed the handset back to Peters, "switch back over to the helos," and just as he swung his body back into position a barrage of small arms fire raked the rooftop sending the operators into full throttle. "Contact! Red side, building 3," blared Staff Sergeant Kochavi They snapped into a well-rehearsed immediate action drill as the security team poured 5.56mm at the assailants on the next rooftop and secured cover.

Alvarez rushed up to Sergeant McCormick, still positioned in the doorframe and each returned a magazine of ammo across the still-dark morning, save the tracers. The mission leader turned his head back to his radio operator, "Get the helos back on the horn and tell them to bust ass down here, ASAP," and maneuvered forward- dipping and dodging- to the repositioned security element as McCormick transitioned from suppressive fire to selective targeting. "Knight 3 to Rook 3-7, we are pinned down, receiving heavy fire from a building to our 7 o'clock, requesting immediate support over." "Roger that Knight 3, we are in orbit stand-by, 3-5 and 3-6 are 2 mikes out." Noticing the recent situation Peters couldn't contain himself, "Now this Gunny, is the SHIT I signed up for." "So what's it looking like" questioned Alvarez as he ignored his subordinate. "A cluster-fuck of assholes with automatic weapons, on higher ground with about a 5 foot brick and concrete wall keeping them alive" contested Kochavi. "Well that's just some awesome shit guys," replied Alvarez.

The team had found refuge behind the poorly constructed 7 foot wide smokestack; and at its very edge on the right side, Doc Sommers had gone prone exposing very little of himself in hopes of teaching some of these simpletons a lesson on effective combat medicine, "Don't you just get pissed off when you realize you didn't THINK you were gonna need some frigging 40 mike-mike." "Yea, ain't life a bitch Doc," replied Peters on the left side of the smokestack. Gunnery Sergeant Alvarez realized that his charges were becoming a little too comfortable with the situation and contemplated verbalizing some wisdom, just as Rook 3-7 came on station parallel with the enemy position giving Staff Sergeant Espinoza the freedom he needed to work his effective SR25-MK11Mod0 from the left external bench of the orbiting MH-6.

Within FM range of the helicopters, Alvarez adjusted the frequency on his Multi-Band-Intra-Team-Radio and communicated, "Rook3-7 this is Knight3-Lead, LZ is getting hot let's run extract option 3." "Roger that Knight3." Rook 3-7 had been originally configured to be the package bird -the lightest helo with only a sniper for fire support and space for what would have been the three captive Marines- but things changed. Now instead of it conducting the first pickup, it would be the last out, replaced by rook 3-6.

Espinoza nodded his head and waved a peace offering to Chief Bristole when he learned of the call for supporting fire. A seven-year victim of _the suck_ with his last 2 in the RTI -Reconnaissance and Target Interdiction- team attached to 2nd Company/2nd Battalion Marine Special Operations Regiment, Espinoza was looking forward to putting the rifle to work. Prior to going over to the Dark Side (MARSOR or commonly referred to as_ the Regiment_), he was a thriving team leader within a STA –Surveillance and Target Acquisition- platoon assigned to 7th Marines but thrived for these kinds of high-speed low-drag missions. As the _Little Bird_ approached the target area, he could feel it throttle down and turn to the left exposing the firefight ahead and below them, "OK Chief I just saw the IR flash from our boys and I'm oriented; gimme 300 meters forward and go into a holding pattern." The MH-6 accelerated and positioned itself 865 yards away and went into a hover as Espinoza peered through the night vision enhanced scope, aligned the sight picture with the IR beam from the PEQ-2 attached to the rifle, thumbed the selector from Safety down to Fire, squeezed the trigger, and launched the bullet out of the rifled barrel giving the bullet a spin effect. Before the round punched a hole through the aggressors' sternum and seconds after the expert rifleman recovered from the recoil, he fired a second bullet targeted at the second aggressors' upper body. His heart was thumping, his saliva glands were on hiatus- causing his mouth to become arid but he was relaxed, his only concern was predicting the mild dips and rises the helicopter encountered but he managed to adapt and overcome to the situation.

After their second comrade fell to the ground the assailants realized they were in direct harm and started to search for cover as a third member was violently thrown to the ground by a high velocity bullet; Espinoza targeted a fourth victim but as he was about to fire his weapon a call or more like a yell to "_Check Fire_" exploded into his left headphone just as he saw one of the small helicopters blur through his high-powered scope.

The 32-year old veteran of 14 years was adjusting his helmet when an eager voice crackled into his headset, "Knight 3-Lead, this is Rook 3-6 we're 50 seconds inbound, over." "Roger that, 3-6." Gunnery Sergeant Alvarez, relieved, made eye contact with Kochavi and grabbed him by one of his shoulder straps, "Kooch, I want you out on the first bird with the package and prisoner, take one of your guys." He then adjusted the microphone boom in front of his mouth, "OK ladies, 3-6 is coming in for the package so let's try to look professional."

Chief Warrant Officer Steinback brought the Little Bird around the building and saw the operators distributed along the rooftop. He reduced the collective and put the egg shaped helicopter into a low hover on the LZ and looked to his right to see two combat-clad Marines approach the flying machine carrying what looked like a body, followed by what was probably a prisoner escorted by a third combatant. Steinback sensed something was wrong since the plan called for a three-man package and what he was seeing was clearly not adding up. He was startled by a hand tapping him on his left shoulder and turned to see Staff Sergeant Kochavi. "What happened," questioned the Army aviator from the 160th SOAR(A). "Don't worry, just uhm… just a lighter load Chief but we're ready to go." No further explanation was needed as it was evident something had gone wrong, his primary concern now was to get the package and operatives back to the airstrip. The dead Captain and the Israeli had been crammed into the diminutive rear compartment while Kochavi and McCormick rode out on opposite benches.

Rook 3-5 executed the exact landing procedure as 3-6, except it recovered Aston, Eagan, Sommers, and Peters. Smith was crouched in the doorframe with his carbine trained on the hostile rooftop when his handset began to crackle in an organized pattern that he immediately recognized as Morse code, Juliet 030 was calling. The communications specialist brought the handset to his free ear and waited until 030 finished relaying their request to go to voice before he hailed them. "Knight 3 to Juliet 030, go ahead we are sound secure over." "Knight 3 be advised greeting message inbound, two mikes with thirty, comeback over." "Confirmed message inbound," he placed the handset and pressured his TeamNet PTT and chirped into the boom, "Gunny the artillery is one minute thirty out." "Right, 3-7 is coming in now."

Gunnery Sergeant Alvarez and Corporal Smith were the last operators on the target buildings' roof, they were now more vigilant than ever because their air support had just flared and gone into a hover several feet off of the roof, rendering its human weapons platform inoperable. Operating off of instincts, Smith double-timed to the helo and after he was on, his team leader made his way to the bird and was pulled up by Staff Sergeant Espinoza as Chief Warrant Officer Bristole urged the little helicopter off the ground before Alvarez had a secure footing. Once his safety line was hooked onto his waist belt he turned to the pilot and gave him a thumb's up. With the MH-6 at full throttle, Alvarez looked back just as the first rounds from the artillery barrage began to explode on or around the building they had just been in. Although this operation had been relatively successfully, Alvarez was even more determined to bring the remaining Marine prisoners back home. But to the Gunnery Sergeant, Operation: Mameluke Sword was more about finding those responsible for his brothers death during the kidnapping of the Marine Officers.


	2. Meeting Corporal Smith

**... With Our Shields or On Them**

_**Meeting Corporal Smith**_

**Forward Operating Base Variance**

**Yevlakh, Azerbaijan**

**1534 Local**

**Present Day 2009 **

**(Mission: Black Light + 14 days)**

"That's bullshit Grace," replied Corporal Riley Smith as he furiously scribbled onto a notepad. "Well did you get his insurance information," he asked just as he caught a glimpse of his team leader, three tele-com stalls up from him, stretch his arms over his head. The Corporal continued his domestic interrogation as the Gunnery Sergeant got up from the phone booth he was using and walked towards the exit, "And why were you going to the store at that hour babe," asked Smith as his _senior non-com_ patted him on the shoulder as he walked towards the exit. "I'll catch-up in a bit Gunny," responded Smith taking note of Alvarez's ridiculously colorful boardshorts and loaded carbine slung across his back, and yelled out in his best southern accent, "That ain't regulation Marine wear now is it?" "What, no no, I'm not talking to you Grace," reassured the 24 year old Marine as he leaned back in the metal folding chair and looked around the tent that had been erected to house the telecommunications stalls used (by the sailors, Marines, airmen, and soldiers working out of the Yevlakh air base) to make telephone calls or for those who possessed laptop computers- access to the local internet network. There was a an internet kiosk located near the base's mess hall, however the computers there were supervised and administered by the Air Force and had every imaginable content filter installed in them; rendering them practically useless.

Smith was the newest addition to 2nd Platoon and being the youngest and most junior ranking member within the platoon hadn't helped with his transition into this conclave of warriors who saw him as just a kid; a liability. As such, he was surprised when he reported to 2nd Battalion's S-1 (administrative cell) and found out that he had landed orders to 2nd Company's free-fall platoon. Free-fall platoons (3 per battalion) generally had some of the most seasoned operators within the Battalion, much of it due to the limited number of slots issued to the Regiment for attendance to the Military Free-Fall School. This limited space meant that only mature and committed Marines, senior non-commissioned officers (E-6 and up) and qualified Sergeants, would be allowed to attend the course. For Smith, he had been fortunate enough to attend the course during his tenure with a unique communications unit known as the Radio Recon Company with the 2nd Radio Battalion. RRC specializes' in conducting SIGNT/EW (signal intelligence/electronic warfare) for the MAGTF commander and what makes them unique is that their peculiar training paradigm allows them to be deployed beyond the capability of conventional Radio Battalion units. Prior to entering the training pipeline to be part of the Regiment, he had spent the last four years on a radio recon team.

Life in the RRT resembled being in an operational platoon but they were two distinct animals; while his current unit was a proactive death-dealing entity, RRT was a _behind the scene_ support unit that avoided confrontations. Not that he hadn't already been in any firefights before, as his first deployment had been with a regular SIGNT/EW communications unit deployed to Iraq in 06 and had encountered ambush's while conducting mounted and dismounted patrols. It was during this first deployment in which he realized that he had no aspirations of being a _gunfighter_ much less an _operator_, hell, disliked weapons and fighting. However, he always found himself attracted to those units which invoked some form of mythic connotation, those which were talked about but nobody knew anything about. Becoming a member of Radio Recon and then the Regiment were professional moves for Smith, gaining enough operational experience in the SIGNT/EW field in order to leave _the suck_ and join a government agency such as the NSA; it was his big dream.

Being assigned to an operational platoon, however, was not part of the dream. He had originally been recruited to be part of a communications support unit within the regiment. The CSU was an enhanced version of Radio Recon with the addition of personnel from various intelligence MOS's. When he had been personally visited by the MARSOC recruiter he was assured that he would have no problems getting a spot in CSU once he successfully completed the 9-month Regimental Qualification Course. During the natal stages of the Regiment, Marines joining the operational support units were not required to attend the RQC due to shortfalls in manpower, however they endured a much shorter 8-week indoctrination. For Smith, RQC had consumed his soul, tested his senses, his will, and his commitment.

**2nd Battalion's Headquarters & Service Company- MARSOR**

**Camp Lejunne North Carolina, USA**

**0845 Local**

**October 2007**

Following an 8-day break upon completing the training pipeline, Smith proudly reported to the 2nd Battalion of the Special Operations Regiment's S-1 where a dreary Corporal Pozzi dryly handed him his orders. Riley read its contents twice and then looked up at her and then read them a third time. "Uhm, I think there has been a mistake," Smith said with a hint of fear in his voice. "Excuse me," responded the annoyed admin. Holding the document at eye level with the print facing her, Riley pointed to a bolded section and in an eager voice said, "Do you see what this says? FREE-FALL!" Rolling her eyes Pozzi countered unenthusiastically, "Way to go hero, you wanted to play with big boys' right?" "No, I'm SINGT. I'm supposed to be in Comms Support. I was guaranteed a slot. You need to change this," urged the young Marine. "Unfortunately, I can't just change orders and you should know that by now _Corporal_," gritted Pozzi under her breath. "Only the Admin Chief can do something about it and I don't think you want to bother him with these types of orders, trust me," urged the female Marine. "Look, I don't belong in that type of unit and I'm sure he'll understand when I discuss it with him," argued Smith just as another Marine approached the admin counter. "Ok, if that's what you want I'll get him," she said as she looked over the Marine that just walked up to her station, "Morning Gunny Alvarez, what can I do for you today," she gleefully responded as her attitude had drastically changed for the best. "Morning Ava. You think the Chief's got a few minutes to spare," asked the senior non-commissioned officer. Smith observed to himself how Corporal Pozzi practically cooed and melted when she said _Gunny_, evoking a cheesy grin from Riley. "It shouldn't be a problem but I'll verify that for," Pozzi responded snatching the orders from Smiths hands and then made her way down the hall to Chief Warrant Officer Fryer's office.

Corporal Smith observed the Gunnery Sergeant and watched as his eyes followed Pozzi until she turned a corner and was out of sight causing another grin to escape catching the senior Marine's eye causing him to glare almost snarl at the junior NCO. Sensing he had been busted, Smith turned to the Gunny and responded clearing his throat, "Morning Gunnery Sergeant," and then quickly glanced at the left side of his Alvarez's chest to determine who he was and what he'd done. Taking mental note of his service ribbons and lack of _hood ornaments_ or school badges he determined the Gunny was probably just a leg but the Bronze Star ribbon indicated he had been in some action since the Corps was not keen on awarding uniform candy. Deeming the Gunny as not a threat he assumed he was just another admin or headquarters pogue. "Morning Corporal, problem with your orders," he asked. "Just a slight mix-up, they've got me slotted for a free-fall platoon," Smith responded nonchalantly. "Whoa that's hardcore Marine. Any grunt would give their first-born and left nut for a free-fall spot," was the Gunny's faux response trying to bait as much information from the Corporal as possible. "I know quite a few who actually would Gunny but it's just not for me, besides I had been promised a spot with comms support since I came from Radio Recon." "Radio Recon huh... That's a pretty hot-shit unit, must of had some hot deployments?" "Yea, it was alright," responded Smith as Corporal Pozzi returned to her station. "Gunny the Chief will see you right after he meets with the Corporal. Smith he's waiting for you now," she announced. Needless to say the meeting did not go as planed for Smith, however, the one bit of positive news was that once he completed his probationary deployment he would be allowed to transfer to the Communications Support Unit with his Company Commanders endorsement. "15 months Riley, just one deployment. It's only a temporary set back," he told himself on the drive out to 2nd Companys' billeting area to meet his new unit.


	3. The Serb & the Syrian

**... With Our Shields or On Them**

_**The Serb and the Syrian**_

**Batumi Free-State Housing Complex**

**Batumi, Autonomous Republic of Ajara**

**0915 Local**

**Present Day 2009 **

**(Mission: Black Light + 14 days)**

It was just another day in Batumi; the sky was clear and baby blue while the cool breeze rolled off of the Black Sea coast rustling the palm-tree branches to life. The citizens of this coastal paradise carried on with their daily activities, bringing life to the busy streets and a charming sense of chaos to the local markets and bazaars. Independence Square was one the largest of these open-air markets where anything could be found as the Square was divided into various sections; food, textiles and construction equipment- to name a few. Some of the items were legit and regulated by through the local Customs office but most of the merchandise found here was in some way or another illegal. Because beneath this realm of everyday life laid the grim and ethically unobstructed reality that the port-city of Batumi was notoriously known for being the largest hub for the _black market_ in the Black Sea zone. The Ajaran _black market_ was a protected entity which fell under the country's protection and it was one of the primary reasons the local economy did not collapse following Ajara's independence from the Republic of Georgia.

The sounds and noise from Independence Square traveled into Najahs apartment on the 11th floor of the Batumi Free-State Housing Complex. The Syrian stirred to life cursing his employer for providing him accommodations in such a noisy neighborhood. He could have opted for an apartment on the opposite side of the building, but the coastal view from this side was one of the few things that made him smile and cause him to thank Allah for the privilege of life. With Allah and the prophet in mind he checked his watch and twisted his face realizing he'd missed his morning prayer but he shrugged it off as Thursdays was one of the few days he could sleep-in a little before going to work. _They_ would understand, he was a good Muslim after all; maybe not the best but he did his part. He satisfied most the 6 obligations required of him; he believed in one God (Allah) and that Muhammad was his prophet, he prayed 2 or 3 times a day instead of the 5 required (working was understood), he provided alms to the less fortunate (working allowed him to), he fasted during Ramadan, and made several trips to Mecca, finally the sixth pillar was the unspoken (almost taboo) obligation of committing oneself to _jihad _(which he had done many times and was one of the few _Pillars of Islam_ he enjoyed the most).

However, for the last 5 or 7 years he had sort of taking a sabbatical from being directly involved in acts against the _Zionist_ regimens of the West. Sabbatical may not have been the proper description, perhaps it could be described as more of a religious or social awakening. It was the second time he had been betrayed by his religion and Muslim brothers; these were actions he found over-whelming repulsive and morally unethical, and were clear indications of how vague the Quran was and how easily it could be manipulated. The first such event was during his involvement in Chechnya; here he had been sold-out and captured along with 15 other rebel fighters by his Muslim brothers who justified their action as an act of self-preservation. Those who had saved themselves were like Najah, _mujahadin_ (foreign fighters to the western world) who had traveled from different parts of the world to take part in the fight against Muslim oppression. When Najah first met the leader of this mujahadin group in Turkey, he knew he would have a hard time trusting the Jordanian. He was fortunate enough to be released by his Russian interrogators and thought that the months of torture would only end with his demise. Yet, it would be one of several times in which he would cross paths with his current employer.

Najahs second religious deceit occurred during the natal stages of his employment to Nikolic Vukic. During this time he took a leave of absence in order to participate in the current fight against _Zionist_ expansion- Iraq. The Syrian had been out of the loop for quite some time, that he had a hard time understanding the social complexities of this conflict. There was no shortage of work in Iraq as the number of different mujahadin groups provided some difficulty in choosing one. However his prior activities and more so his tenure operating with Syrian Intelligence got him recruited into one of the most prolific mujahadin organizations in the country; Al-Qaeda in Iraq. To Najahs horror and disappointment the same Jordanian who had betrayed him in Chechnya was in control of this powerful terrorist group. Fresh in his mind as though it were yesterday he remembered the first thing the Jordanian told him upon recognizing the newest prospect, "My brother Najah, you see, it was not all in vain. Your sacrifice provided me with the gift of life so that I could carry-on the fight against the West and now you see we are bringing the Americans to their knees. And may your survival at the hands of those Russian animals be a testament to the power of Allah and the will of the Prophet which resides in you," prophesied the Jordanian as the other members around them began to pray. He continued, "Al-Qaeda in Iraq will be the unifying factor in the return of the Islamic Caliphate. And as the Prophets young general Khalid ibn-al-Wahlid, I too shall be the _sword of Islam_ bringing all those who oppose the will of Allah to their death."

The impromptu sermon was much for Najah, as he hadn't experienced such religious fervor since his adolescence as a member of an Islamic youth group back in Frankfurt, Germany. His only response to such a statement was, "Praise be to Allah." As much as he devoted his life to Islam, an as much he would like to believe, there would be no such thing as a second Caliphate; it was if you will, an urban myth. A rouse used to play on a weak Muslims soul and conscious. With such words from the Jordanian he knew that nothing he Najah had seen or done would compare to what the leader of Al-Qaeda had in store for the Zionist.

Due to his age and technical experience, the Jordanian had placed the Syrian in management position where he was responsible for over-seeing the electrical applications to the car-bombs and suicide vests employed by the mujahadin. Perhaps not being directly involved in the operations was the leaders way of keeping him out of his way; maybe the Jordanian felt threatened that he would try to take stage a coup against him or possibly he was there to monitor his behavior on behalf of Al-Qaeda or maybe he was a spy for the coalition. All of these thoughts plagued and occupied his Najahs mind until several weeks later when he realized the extent of the Jordanians hate for the West.

It was one thing to kill armed combatants, soldiers of the coalition, but unarmed men unaffiliated with any western military whose sole purpose was to drive supply vehicles filled with soap, paper, and toothbrushes? But these men weren't just shot and killed; many were tortured and then beheaded; with the actions filmed and broadcasted to the world. He had never once conceived committing such a gruesome and barbaric act of insanity, as no man or even _woman_ deserved such a death. The beheadings continued and he did nothing to oppose these actions as voicing concern over killing non-Muslims during a jihad could be considered an act of treason. However the final event which broke Najahs will to continue with the mujahadin was when he had been asked to personally over see the construction of 6 suicide car-bombs for what he thought would be one of the largest attacks against the Coalition Provisional Authority. The attack was of such importance that the Jordanian visited Najah in his workshop the morning before the bombs left the warehouse; it surprised the Syrian as this would be the second time in the 7 months that he had been in Iraq that the Jordanian came to see him about an operation. The discourse between the two was short as he was only concerned that everything would go off as planned and that the bombers had been properly trained on the detonation devices and then he left.

At 6:20 the following morning the residents of the Iraqi city of Najaf were rocked from their early morning responsibilities by a large explosion in the downtown area. 11 kilometers away Najah was awakened by the wails and excitement coming from outside the farmhouse he was living in and walked out to see what the problem was. Eagerly one of the shepherds approached him and pointed towards the city and the plume of smoke rising into the sky, "Do you see what they have done. They say they want to help us but instead they kill us." Confused Najah asked, "What? What are you talking about? You mean the Americans?" "Yes, Yes. They dropped a bomb on the hospital. Those animals!"

_But it didn't make sense; the Americans and the Shiites were working together and the only group that would benefit from bombing a Shiite building were the Su..._ And before he could finish his thought the local news station began reporting about a second bombing this time Baghdad against another Shiite site. Najahs worst fears were coming to life- the Jordanian was trying to coerce the Shiites into opposing the Americans by making them submit to his will. His stomach began to turn as he came to grips with the fact the bombs he had assembled were now responsible for the slow-brewing civil war that would implode in several years. No ethical Muslim would commit such an atrocity as killing and maiming a fellow believer in Allah.

From 6:20 to 11:44 that bright and sunny morbid morning 6 suicide car-bombs were detonated from Baghdad to Basra. One mosque, two hospitals, a police recruitment depot, and a Western non-government organization that housed displaced children were attacked. Najah confined himself to his room and wept for hours on the straw mat he slept on curled up like an infant and he spent several hours wondering around the farm with a constant flow of tears looking up at the sky for response. For the Syrian born in Frankfurt Germany, his time with the mujahidin had come to an end and several days following the chain of attacks he disappeared over the border and into Syria just as he had arrived.

Not many things made him doubt his loyalty to Islam and who was he to judge; to a certain degree he was no different than the Jordanian. That same streak of evil and hate also ran through his blood and it was also manifested in violence against the west but never overflowed in such a way that made killing other Muslims acceptable; he had his limits and some form of restraint against his enemies. Death however was his business and now it

**Batumi Free-State Housing Complex **

**Batumi, Autonomous Republic of Ajara**

**0917 Local**

**Present Day 2009 **

**(Mission: Black Light + 14 days)**

Najah wiped the tears from his face and looked out his veranda at the somewhat never ending blue desert with its white peaks. _A true testament of Allahs will_, he thought to himself. His introspection was cut short when somebody knocked on his door three or four times from the outside, "Commander Habash," queried one of the guards posted outside his door. "WHAT," he responded rather annoyed as he walked towards the front door. "Mister Vukic needs to see you before you leave," urged the Serb through the door. "Alright. Half an hour," responded Najah and turned to walk back towards the veranda and saw her standing there looking out into the blue abyss; beyond the grimy city, beyond the hyperactive port, past the sandy coast and into the Black Sea.

He stood there and watched as the light bathed her and the breeze moved her hair brown hair in waves. With all of the atrocities and heinous events he had participated in and orchestrated, his hunger for non-Muslim or Middle Eastern women was probably his greatest vice, however, he never asked for absolution as it was one of the few things he enjoyed about his life. Almina was one of his favorites and it had taken him some to remember her name. In reality it wasn't her real name, more so she barely remembered what it was or where she was from. This was another familiar component of Ajaras involvement with the _black market_; the sale, purchase, and bartering of women. Almina was close to 9 when she was abducted and sold to a family in Luxemburg and then to another and so forth and for 9 or 10 years she bounced from home to street corner to brothel and from country to country. Najah knew this about her and had come to terms with _her reality_ and was one of the reasons he did his best to treat her as a person and not as a commodity, although she would quickly remind him that she didn't need his charity. But to Najah she was more than that, perhaps he had more feelings for her than he cared to admit or the fact that he had involved himself in a much more serious conflict that he needed something more meaningful to attest for when Allah came to sequester him.

**Golani Bar & Restaurant **

**Batumi, Autonomous Republic of Ajara**

**1003 Local**

**Present Day 2009 **

**(Mission: Black Light + 14 days)**

The Syrian stepped out of the tinted Japanese SUV and entered the restaurant, immediately noticing two guards seated at the first two tables, with one at the bar, another standing by the emergency exit and two rotating in and out of the kitchen. This was not a local eatery for regular citizens it, was an exclusive locale that reminded Najah of those American mobster movies and every time he was asked to meet Vukic here the hair on the back of his neck became prickly. The Golani was busy today with various important government officials- Deputy Ministers of Internal Security and Intelligence, the Port Director, Deputy-Vice Minister of Commerce, Customs Director, two ranking members of parliament, and a judge- not to forget those three persons (not government officials) who controlled and administered the _black market_; these figures were the nucleus of the corruption and racketeering that permeated Ajaran society.

Najah found his table just at the back of the dining hall and took his sun-glasses as he approached the men sitting down and eating a rather heavy breakfast. "Najah, so nice of you to join us this morning; I'm sure you know Colonel Petrovitch, commander of the Ajaran _counter-terrorism group_. And this is Colonel Amra with Armenian Internal Security," introduced Vukic as he articulated with his hands for the Syrian to sit. "Gentlemen this is Najah Habash, he is the commander of my _foreign security section_, not an official position but it suits him, am I not right comrade." "Good morning," replied Najah dryly and reeking of suspicion- particularly with the presence of the Armenian. Hacking into a piece of meat the aging Serb questioned Najah, "I tried contacting you several times earlier this morning to no avail." "I had a personal matter to deal with before leaving for Armenia later today," he responded looking towards Colonel Amra. "How is she these days," Vukic asked. "Who?" "Alana; that is her name isn't it?" A bit irritated he responded with some attitude, "Almina and she is fine Mister Vukic." Sensing some urgency in his associate he preceded with the morning's business, "Najah, our current project seems to be attracting a lot of unwanted attention and I feel that it would be in _our_ best interest if Colonel Petrovitch were to provide additional resources towards the operation in Armenia."

The Syrian was taken by surprise with this suggestion as his superior had always allowed him a spectrum of independence in the development and execution of those operations of utmost importance to Vukic; rarely if ever did he intercede or impose his will on Najahs command. "I'm confused Nikolic as I was under the impression that everything was relatively going as planned. If your concern is about the Azeri bombardment of the town were the items were held, I, I think it was purely coincidental," preached the Syrian as he examined the faces seated at his table. Before Vukic could respond the Armenian Colonel scoffed, "Hah, coincidence you say," a remark which twisted the Syrians insides. "Colonel, I would appreciate it if you would keep your fucking mouth shut until I ask you to speak," scolded the Serbian under his breath and watched as Amra dipped his head down in shame and disgust. "Is there something that I am not aware of," queried the Muslim, "has INTERPOL infiltrated our group, Nikolic?" "My friend I believe it is greater than that. The American presence in Azerbaijan may not be there solely to aid the upcoming Azeri offensive to retake the Nagorno-Karabakh region currently under Armenian control," informed Vukic, "Colonel Amra- if you will."

Bringing his head up to save what dignity he had left, the forty year old Armenian gave the Syrian his version of what had occurred 13 days ago, "Commander Habash there were many _coincidences_ that day. I have several Azeri informants who have infiltrated the military bases occupied by the Americans and was told that 2 helicopters, the infamous _blackhawk_ types, left the main base in Yevlakh and stopped at a small airstrip some 7 kilometers away from that border town. At this airstrip the Americans transferred to 3 smaller helicopters and crossed the border into Armenia," educated the Colonel and paused to let the information sink-in before continuing. "Our primary reports of the attack stated that the first strike was directed at the power plant, however, it was actually sabotaged first and then obliterated during the formal bombardment. One of the power plant guards was admitted to one of the local hospitals with several life-threatening gun-shot wounds. When questioned later by elements of the Ministry of Internal Security he said that the plant had been attacked and subsequently sabotaged. MIS conducted a thorough investigation. They questioned the citizens who had survived the attack and have informed me that an incriminating number of those witnesses reported hearing helicopters and several instances of gunfire before the artillery began to fall," finished the Armenian before saying, "so it seems Mister Habash that the Americans have finally caught on to your operation."

What had once started as one of the most beautiful days for Najah Habash was now becoming one of the worst. He had dedicated a little more than a year to this operation and up until a week ago it had been a flawless work of art. He was brought out of his stupor by the Serbs familiar husky voice, "Najah this transaction must be completed with the utmost priority," urged his employer. "Yes-yes, I understand, but the Iranians won't be ready for another two or maybe three weeks at the most. Once I arrive in Armenia I will do my best accelerate the process." Learning from Amras outburst Colonel Petrovitch waited for Vukics silent acknowledgment before interrupting, "Major Groval will be waiting for you at the airport and will be traveling with you to Arme..." But before he could finish his statement Najah cut him short, "Traveling with me? What is this Vukic, do you no longer trust me?" "Things have grown out of your, how should I say it, realm of expertise. I feel that it is in our best interest if Colonel Petrovitch and his men are to play a more active role in ensuring that the _remaining _Americans are delivered intact to the Iranians. Andro please continue."

"You have nothing to worry about Habash as it will only be a small detachment of six men plus Major Groval and you will have control of them unless the Major deems otherwise. He will travel with you today and liaise with me until the rest of his men arrive later this week." The words _unless the Major deems otherwise_ seemed like an open invitation for Groval to hijack the trade but did he or anybody else, aside from Vukic, know what the Americans were being traded for? "I still do not understand what a difference six or seven men will make when I have 15 of your best men Vukic. Not to mention the men that Colonel Salmen has agreed to contribute," Najah asked while looking at Vukic. "Najah if things go wrong and the Americans confront you it will be like nothing you have experienced. And not to forget mentioning that you will probably not be countered with regular soldiers, but American special operations. This is for the good of the transaction and there will be no more discussing it. My decision stands, Colonel Petrovitchs men will accompany you." The decision _had_ been made and there was little Najah could but accept his employers order and catch his flight to Yerevan Armenia.


End file.
